With All the Dying Leaves I Scream
by Lassroyale
Summary: When Columbus gets hurt and left behind, Tallahassee has to decide: salvation on the open road, or redemption in eyes of a broken boy?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** With All the Dying Leaves I Scream: Chapter 1

**Authors:** Lassroyale  
**Warning:** Angst, hurt/comfort  
**Spoilers:** Zombieland movie  
**Rating:** PG**Word Count:**  
**Pairings:** Tallahassee/Columbus(eventual)

**Summary:** When Columbus gets hurt and left behind, Tallahassee has to decide: salvation on the open road, or redemption in eyes of a broken boy?

**A/N:** My first Zombieland fanfic! Looks like it will be a couple of chapters. Also, this is what I started for a prompt in the Zombieland kinkmeme...it's grown way past that, methinks. As this is my first Zombieland fic, I apologize for any OOC'ness. I'm still trying to get down the character's voices as I interpret them.

**Chapter 1**

Tallahassee leaned restlessly against a broken fence post which skirted the narrow, uneven country road that led towards a shit-hole little town called Ransom. It probably at one time had had more cows than cars. His breath was visible in the crisp air; it was late fall and the leaves were as dead as most of the country's population. The ground was hard beneath his boots, and part of him, the part of him that used to know this season as a time for gloves and candy, knew winter was a stone's throw away.

It was going to be a cold one, but the kid had suggested they head southwest, go to Arizona where it was warm. For a moment, Tallahassee allowed himself the rare smile - not the Jester's mask, his face frozen in the rigor of false bravado - but something real and fucking terrifying. He shook it off with a scowl.

Too close - he was too fucking close.

He scrubbed the palm of his hand across his jaw, callouses rough as they pulled against his stubble. These thoughts weren't for him. He was meant to kill zombies and survive, not sit and fucking ponder the why's and how's of things. Yet part of him knew that ever since he let that stupid kid in the truck with him, things had changed irrevocably.

There was no going back to the way it used to be, not anymore - not since meeting Columbus.

Suddenly, there was a shout to his left: panicked, high-pitched and female. Tallahassee turned, sharp, quick – no lazy shift, the stink of adrenaline curling up from his skin in immediate response – and saw two figures crest the horizon at a dead run.

It was Wichita and Little Rock; two figures, not three.

Something twisted in his chest and Tallahassee straightened, scanning the area behind the two girls like a prairie dog on high alert. He squinted against the glow of the setting sun, his mouth suddenly dry for reasons other than the cold wind that plucked earnestly at his clothing.

He had expected to see Columbus trailing after the pair, maybe firing haphazardly (and uselessly) over his shoulder or some shit, but where the lanky boy should have been, there was nothing. Then there was movement, a shift in the air, and for the briefest of moments Tallahassee thought he saw a curl of brown hair breach his line of sight. The wind shifted unexpectedly and it dragged with it the smell of days old rot. A low rumble reached him; first a soft moan that swayed on the air, which rose in crescendo as it drew closer.

Zombies – a shit ton of zombies too, all of them ambling, running, and generally moving in his direction, intent on one thing only: _meat._

He was still standing there when Wichita and Little Rock passed him and flew towards the Hummer, wrenching open the doors with frantic, clumsy fingers. He remained rooted to the spot, deaf to the girls' screams as he drew his sawed-off – he _told_ Columbus to take something better than that double barrel, the fucking idiot – and unloaded a round into the rotting horde.

He stayed until he was forced to retreat, blue eyes searching amongst the herd for a glimpse of life. Nothing. Something again twisted within him, but Tallahassee just didn't have the fucking time to examine it. Instead, he did the only thing he _could_ given the situation: he survived.

He holstered the sawed off and ran to the Hummer, swinging himself up and inside with the same unlikely grace and adroitness that saved his ass in Pacific Playland. He shoved Wichita roughly out of the driver's seat with more force than was necessary - didn't care - and gunned it, his foot heavy on the petal as the Hummer tore down the road with a roar like a wounded beast.

***

They drove in silence for a while, the close quarters of the car charged with unspoken questions and explanations. Tallahassee, for his part, seethed with accusations that loitered on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst from the spaces between his teeth. Next to him, Wichita was regarding him with those big eyes of hers, quietly imploring him not to ask, to let it go, to bury the questions - the memory - in gun smoke and blood.

All at once it seemed too much and he slammed on the brakes, hard. Wichita flew forward and bloodied her nose on the dashboard with a muffled curse. Tallahassee's seatbelt caught him mid-toss - funny how another of the kid's neurotic rules had rubbed off on him when he wasn't paying attention.

At the thought of Columbus something dark burned behind his eyes. It was a look he'd worn few times before and it meant any number of things; anything from lust to hate. In this case, it was fear, the type of fear that coiled like anger in the belly and was unrecognizable to everyone except the person it gripped. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead at the desolate stretch of road in front of him.

"What happened?" he grunted, the sound grinding through clenched teeth. It was harsh in his own ears; deep and dangerous, barely recognizable despite the burr of his drawl. Wichita flinched back from him. Behind them, Little Rock began to cry big crocodile tears, her low, childish sobs filling the car.

"We just wanted to make some hot chocolate," Wichita snapped, anger and the overwhelming need to protect her little sister aiding her courage, "the zombies heard the sound of the kettle going off."

"And?" he pressed, finally looking round to fix her with a hard expression.

Now it was her turn to look away. "The floor must've been rotting," she said as tonelessly as she could manage, "Columbus caught a weak patch and fell through to the basement."

"And ya left 'im down there for the zombie's to chow on," growled Florida; it was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," answered Wichita, glancing back at Little Rock, "otherwise we would've been chow too."

Finally, Tallahassee's infamous temper came to a head. He was shouting at Wichita, hell, he was shouting at Little Rock, who only responded by crying harder. His voice, loud as a thunderclap, filled the car. His rage, fucking full of intensity and passion, spilled out onto the streets. Wichita screams too, her pretty face contorted and red with fear and fury, frayed nerves getting the best of both of them.

He closed his fingers around the steering wheel tighter - each minute he stayed the harder it was to keep from breaking something. He doesn't know where the anger comes from, doesn't understand why the thought of Columbus, crumpled and alone in the cold darkness of some dead family's basement makes his chest so tight that he can hardly breathe. He doesn't know when he became so fucking attached, especially to that goddamn good-for-nothing kid.

What he _does_ know, is that he's packed up the Ohio's duffel with extra sweatshirts and has strapped himself with a small arsenal, by the time his head clears enough to realize he's standing in the middle of the road. Wichita and Little Rock are by the Hummer, looking at him with scared confusion, though in Wichita's case, her confusion is matched in spades by her frustration.

"Where are you going?" she yells.

Tallahassee knows and he doesn't, but he replies anyway, repeating what he's been repeating this whole time. "I trusted you two with 'im."

"What the fuck does that mean?" screams Wichita, holding her sister by the shoulders so she can't run after his retreating figure.

But Tallahassee doesn't answer. He just keeps walking, his anger fading to worry, which itself soon faded to a sort of macabre, foolish determination. He doesn't answer, because he's not sure what the words mean either.

Fuck it though. He's fixin' to find out, one way or another… and the answer lies miles down the road, back at Ransom. The answer lies with the kid - wherever he may be.

(To be continued)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** With All the Dying Leaves I Scream: Chapter 2

**Authors:** Lassroyale

**Warning:** Angst, hurt/comfort

**Spoilers:** Zombieland movie

**Rating:** PG

**Word Count:** 1581

**Pairings:** Tallahassee/Columbus

**Summary:** When Columbus gets hurt and left behind, Tallahassee has to decide: salvation on the open road, or redemption in eyes of a broken boy?

**A/N:** Hope you guys enjoy! Please read and review - it keeps me writing. ;)

**Chapter 2**

Ransom, Kansas was kind of like that scrawny kid in gym class - there wasn't much to it but bare bones and a piss poor attitude. Except, thought Tallahassee, that scrawny kid was just as likely to have a shotgun in the back of his pickup and a passel of cousins with more brawn than brains. Yeah, Ransom was as about aspodunk as they came, with dirt roads arranged into a grid, worn houses in need of a face-lift, and a main street lined with mom and pop shops that were probably this derelict even _before_ the infestation.

It did offer something that Tallahassee could appreciate, though, and that was a little diner name Kevy-Lee's whose crooked sign boasted the best hotcakes in all of Kansas - only between 6AM-9AM. _'Jus' my luck,'_ he thought, _' it's fuckin' eleven.'_

Well, at least he thought it was 11:00. The Mickey Mouse watch strapped to his wrist was riddled with scratches and smeared with a bit of dried blood, though the hands still stuttered around the dial reasonably well.

He grinned to himself as he ducked into the diner through a side door, though initially it was merely the somewhat morbid smile of anticipation he wore at the prospect of cracking the skull of some rottingmeatsuit with his heavy axe. He'd acquired it awhile back from an abandoned farm, less than three weeks ago. It was a big and heavy tool, solid, and it felt fucking good to swing it full force and feel the vibration of breaking bones travel up his arms.

His grin changed then, still all teeth and lips peeled back, but there was something more to it; this

smile, reached his Tallahassee rooted around for something edible he could pack up and bring with him - maybe a fucking Twinkie if shit-hole little towns like Ransom even _knew_ what Twinkies were - he recalled the look of awe on the kid's face when they had, in the middle of the summer, found themselves in Disney World.

***Some months before...***

_"What?" exclaimed Tallahassee with a genuinely stunned expression, "You ain't never been to Disney World?" He pinched his arm as if checking to see if he was dreaming or not._

_A partly annoyed, partly embarrassed, and partly sad expression rippled across Ohio's features. A moment later the kid tried to brush it off, affecting an air of apathy that couldn't chase the sorrow that lingered in the corners of his eyes._

_"It's fine, really. My parent's they were, uh, shut-in's like me. So we didn't get out much. Actually, I didn't even know about Mickey Mouse until I was twelve." He laughed, the sound strained as he fiddled with the strings of hishoodie. He sucked one of them into his mouth, and Tallahassee had been around him long enough to know it was a nervous habit._

_"Knock that off, it ain't healthy," he grumbled, swatting at the kid who shifted clumsily away, but let the string fall from his teeth. He licked his lips with a kittenish flick of his tongue. His mouth looked moist. Tallahassee was suddenly very irritated. "Now listen 'ere," he barked, poking a finger into Columbus' narrow chest almost violently, "I don't care if you ain't never planned on it, but every kid needs to visit Disney World at least once. So we'regoin'."_

_At this Columbus sputtered. "Are you fucking crazy?" he hissed, his fingers tightening on his shotgun reflexively as he paced around the Hummer, Tallahassee dogging his every step. "No, that's stupid. Do you even remember what happened at PacificPlayland ?" He shrugged back from other man when he swaggered into his personal space, but instead of retreating again, he slumped back against the car stubbornly. He lifted his chin and Tallahassee bit back a snicker; the kid was actually pouting._

_He crowded the smaller man, and leaned against the car too as he planted his large hands solidly on the warm metal on either side of Columbus. He fixed the other with one of his better glares; admirably, the kid raised his eyes and stared directly back at him. After a moment Tallahassee said, "We'regoin'."_

_After an even longer moment, during which Florida swore he could hear the kid muttering the pros and cons of such a decision beneath his breath, Ohio replied, "Fine."_

_Tallahassee hid his a smile and pushed away from the car. "Goddamn right. Now let's go collect the girls an' head out."_

_***_

_The girls had been excited to go to Disney World, since Little Rock had never been either and Wichita had last been there when she was ten. Their excited chatter carried them through the long drive to Orlando. _

_Every once in awhile, when Columbus was riding shotgun with him and Tallahassee was driving, the kid would glance over and he would feel the weight of his gaze settle upon him. Something lurked within Ohio's brown eyes; something broken. Then, briefly, there would be a shift and the older man would catch a glimpse of what might be gratitude before the kid would look away. _

_If he thought about it too long, the whole thing bothered Tallahassee. So, true to form, he didn't think about it much at all except during those rare moments of deep sleep when Columbus' troubled fucking gaze followed him in his dreams._

_***_

_He didn't understand the look until they were in a gift shot in Disney World, after they had locked a horde of zombies in the tunnel of, "It's a Small World," which Tallahassee had assured Columbus and Little Rock, "Wuddun't worth two damns, anyway." Wichita had followed her sister to the section filled with the accessories and costumes for all the Disney princesses. Tallahassee had taken one look at all that sparkly frilly shit and had gone in the opposite direction._

_Columbus' gaze trailed after Wichita for a moment, but eventually he'd followed the other man, looking a little numb as he took in colorful, grinning faces of all of the iconic Disney characters. He picked up a Mickey Mouse watch and stopped in his tracks._

_Florida glanced back at him, and took note of the stricken expression which had frozen the kid's face. His eyes were distant and he knew that Columbus was miles away, trapped somewhere in the avenues of his own memory. A brief frown pulled the corner of Tallahassee's mouth downward._

_"You gonna start makin' out with the watch or what?"_

_The kid jumped, startled, and shook his head quickly as if clearing it. "No," he replied in a cracked voice. He coughed. "No, I'm not going to make out with it." He rolled his eyes and gave a little offended huff as he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Uh," he looked around, nodding to himself in reassurance when he saw that Wichita and Little Rock were still occupied, "uh, it's that I always wanted one of these when I finally found out what Mickey Mouse was. I asked every year, but, whatever, I guess my parents never paid attention."_

_Tallahassee shrugged and smashed a snow globe on the ground. "Y'can have one now," he offered, "y'can have all the damn Mickey watches you want. Fuckin' take 'em all."_

_"That's not the point," said Columbus quietly, though the other man caught a hint of a smile on his face, "but thanks, I guess." He held out the watch to him and Tallahassee's brows shot up. "Umm, you know, thanks for taking me here. I don't think I would've gone on my own."_

_Tallahassee ignored the sentiment and pointed to the watch instead. "What's that for?""You don't have a watch?"_

_"Well jesus kid, what 'd that run ya? A bill, two bills?" he grinned, spit, and took the watch from Columbus and shoved it into his pocket. Then he punched Ohio in the arm. "You're a queer little spitfuck, ya know that?"_

***

Tallahassee blinked and realized he had been standing in the diner for the better part of five minutes, holding a first-aid kit that he had found in the back. He cursed at himself and kicked over a stool, which made him feel immensely better.

"Fuckin' reminiscing like a little fucking bitch," he muttered. He slipped the first-aid kit - shitty little thing, but it would have to do - into his bag and slipped back out onto the street. His boots kicked up dirt as he beat it down one of the roads towards a cluster of houses.

The sooner he found the kid the better. He was getting all fucking sentimental without him, and that just made him all sorts of pissed.

(To be continued...)


	3. Chapter 3

Title: With All the Dying Leaves I Scream: Chapter 3  
Authors: Lassroyale  
Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort  
Spoilers: Zombieland movie  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 1067  
Pairings: Tallahassee/Columbus  
Summary: When Columbus gets hurt and left behind, Tallahassee has to decide: salvation on the open road, or redemption in eyes of a broken boy?

A/N: This is a bit of a short chapter, but I ended where I thought it needed to for impact. :)

**Chapter 3**

The seventh door Tallahassee kicked open was painted the color of a robin's egg in spring. It reminded him of a different home and a different door - all of which had belonged to a different life. He could hardly call it his life anymore, because there was no going back to it. It belonged to a stranger, and one whose skin was too ill-fitting for him to feel comfortable in. At times - albeit very rare times - Tallahassee had to wonder if maybe he'd ever really worn that life well, and in questioning, he hated himself.

The big man could feel a familiar sort of fury seep through his veins, sluggish, a slow simmer of unresolved something-or-other that might steep for days. Tallahassee glared at the open door, now sporting a foot-sized hole right beneath the knob. He fucking hated that door. Hell, he hated the whole house and what it reminded him of.

In fact, Tallahassee had half a mind to just burn the fucker down, but something stopped him.

Death stopped him.

The smell of it was unmistakable: a coalescence of fecal matter, blood, and weeks-old rot. It was a smell that one could verily taste. It was a stink that sunk so deeply into clothing and skin, that it just seemed to fucking linger. Tallahassee had mostly gotten used to the stench, but there were times when the potency of it caught him by surprise.

Times like now.

The big man inhaled a slow breath through his mouth, tasting the foulness on his gums and beneath his tongue. Through sheer force of fucking will, Tallahassee stopped himself from gagging. Besides, there was killing to be done, somewhere in this little run-down shack that smelled like death.

It was dark inside, though as he squinted into the shadows, he could tell that even before zombies had ravaged it the furnishings had been sparse. Something else was in the air, mixing with the perfume of rotting things. After a moment Tallahassee recognized it: smoke. He took a closer look around and saw that at one time, a fire had charred some of the walls. There was a ring of stones in one corner next to a broken pile what had probably once been a chair.

Squatters.

Tallahassee spit with distaste. "Well, there ain't no fuckin' squatters now," he mumbled to himself in a humorless burr.

There were smears of old blood on the walls, browned by time, and here and there he spied deep, five-fingered gouges in the wooden floors. Something had come in and chased the squatters out; hell, maybe the stupid fucks hadn't secured the house before settling and the home's former occupants hadn't appreciated the company.

Either way, Tallahassee couldn't really give a shit. Different time, different place, different life; yeah, he was definitely going to burn this fucker down when he got the chance.

The floorboards creaked under his boots as he carefully worked his way towards the kitchen, but he stopped short when he saw it: a huge fucking hole in the middle of the floor. The wood, due to some shoddy construction and more fire damage, had buckled and caved inwards.

It was dark in that hole, and damp, musty air wafted up from below. It smelled like a swamp down there, a mix of mold and sewage that actually made him gag this time. He reared back from the edge of the hole, coughing, when he heard a noise that stilled him instantly: a low, weak moan of pain.

Tallahassee didn't have time to wonder why his pulse jumped erratically as his heart sped up to match the frenetic rush of his thoughts, as he dropped to one knee and shifted back towards the edge of the hole. "Hey,spitfuck, you down there?"

For a moment, there was no sound, other than a soft scratching in the darkness. It sounded like rats...or maybe, thought Tallahassee, it was just the kid down there trying to feel his way, wounded, through the pitch black. The thought made him scowl and he prepared to shout down into the hole again, when he heard Columbus' faint reply.

"Tall...Talla?"

Tallahassee blinked at the shortened version of his name, but he supposed he could forgive the kid; just this once. After all, he'd been down there for some hours now and probably wasn't completely thinking straight.

"Kid, I'm comin' down fer ya, so dun move, alright? Jus' gimme a sec to find the damn stairs and I'll have ya outta there and outta this shithole real quick."

There was more scratching in the darkness, though it seemed like the rat had found some friends. "Sounds like ya got a fuckin' rodent infestation down there," he mused as he began to move away from the hole, heading again towards the kitchen. He wanted to keep Columbus talking; he wanted to keep him awake and mumbling nonsense for all he cared. He just wanted to hear the kid's voice, because it reassured Tallahassee that he was still alive.

He hadn't made it more than a few steps when the kid's voice suddenly shot from down below, high and panicky.

"FUCK!"

There was a muffled scuffling noise and then the reverberating, echoing report of a double-barrel shotgun. Tallahassee heard it then, heard a wail, no - a fucking wet banshee cry of several zombies moving through the darkness below his feet. It made a different sort of panic, a panic he hadn't felt in quite a long time, sweep through him. Nipping on its heels, was a black rage that settled easily, like a well-worn leather jacket.

"Columbus!" he half-shouted and half-growled. And, before he had even thought it through, Tallahassee had launched himself towards the hole in the floor and dropped down without hesitation into the darkness below.

(To be continued...)


End file.
